T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

Bowers’ face resembled a drain whose plug had been ripped away. “He’ll be massacred.”

“Not,” Jackie replied, “if he has another team waiting in the wings to buy them back.”

The K street clock ticked to a faster beat than the rest of Washington. By the time the Beltway and local Interstates experienced their daily dose of gridlock, most of the lobbyists had been at their desks for several hours. Even so, Valerie hired a caterer for this particular dawn conference, since many of the senior figures in attendance were unaccustomed to the rigors of K Street attack mode. Behind the boardroom table ran a buffet of smoked salmon, eggs Florentine, baskets of fresh bread, whipped butter, fruit salad, and stacked briquettes of filet mignon. She waited for the team to settle down, then said, “Last night I was invited to a function at the Press Club. They were doing a charity roast of the Vice President. Midway through the evening, I was cornered by Senator Alfons.”

She resisted the urge to beam, their response was that strong. Hands up and down the table were trapped midair by the news. Senator Alfons of New York was one of the President’s staunchest allies. New York was also key to the President’s chances of reelection. She reveled in the spotlight of anticipation a moment more, then announced, “Alfons is coming out against the amendment.”

“All right .”

“This is dynamite,” another agreed.

“The timing could not possibly be better,” Valerie went on. “So far as we know, the committee will have a vote on the bill this very morning. Before they meet, we need to muscle our way into as many offices as possible. The Department of the Treasury, the Council of Economic Advisers, and the White House staff. They all need to hear the same message-this amendment critically damages America’s sovereignty, and backing it will do irreparable harm to the President’s chances for reelection. The President can’t afford to come out on any side but the senator’s.”

“Anybody who votes for this thing,” her former boss predicted, “will earn themselves a one-way ticket back to Iowa.”

Valerie leaned back, sipped from her cup, smiled at chatter she scarcely heard. The senior partner seated midway along the table gave her a fraction of a nod. Things were definitely going her way.

“Hayek is playing a high-finance version of the old shell game,” Jackie repeated, swiveling around in her seat so she could take in Wynn and Bowers in the back. “Switching the pea around in plain sight, but moving back and forth until the placement is lost.”

She pointed behind them, to where Colin rode in the next car. The snarled traffic had them jammed in so tight she could see the worried pinch to his pale features. “Colin Ready told me how Hayek had built a second trading floor above the main one. He brought in this new team everyone hated, then seemed to climb down again and move them over to this bank he had acquired. At least for a while. But both funds kept growing at this incredible rate, and this week Hayek tells them the bank doesn’t have enough room, they had to bring these new guys back over. But with both funds awash in new money, who’s going to complain?”

“Hayek’s ownership of First Florida has not been officially confirmed,” Bowers said, his bark muted but still in place.

Jackie paused long enough to give him a look, then continued, “It wasn’t until last night that it all finally fell into place. I’ve been wracking my brains trying to figure it out. Then it hit me. Something Colin said sparked it off. How there was still activity going on over at the bank. A lot of money being kept in abeyance. Not even listed on the books. Held in offshore accounts, just waiting for Hayek to give the word.”

“You’ve lost me,” Wynn confessed.

“It was a trick perfected by Rothschild. Back in the early 1800s, he was the king of the European financial world. Whatever he said basically was followed by the entire market. Just before Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo, all the banks were wondering if this was the end. Rothschild said nothing, but word spread that he was selling. We’re talking serious panic, getting rid of everything he owned, switching to gold bullion and diamonds. Exactly what you’d expect if you had to flee a nation about to lose a war.” Jackie squinted tiredly into the rising sun. “The markets just tumbled. But what they didn’t know was Rothschild was secretly buying everything back at fire-sale prices.”

Bowers demanded, “You’re telling us Hayek owns a third bank?”

“He doesn’t need one. A huge trading floor is required to handle different kinds of trades, and do them fast. But if all you’re handling are forward contracts through the Interbank, a handful of traders could dispose of billions in a matter of hours.”

Bowers leaned forward, snarled at the driver, “Can’t you make this traffic get out of our way?”

Agent Welker was senior enough to remain languid in the face of Bowers’ ire. “Sir, unless you’re in the President’s own convoy, the only way to get the Washington rush-hour driver out of your way is with a gun.”

Bowers drummed on the window, ground his teeth, finally decided, “We’ve got to act. I don’t like it, but we can’t take the chance you’re right. I’ll have my people start gathering a team. But we can’t hit the markets based on this kind of evidence. We’ll just have to wait and see if Hayek starts dumping dollars.”

Jackie’s eyelids felt coated with shards from the hourglass of lost sleep. “We might have something more. One question first. How has the market responded to all this publicity over the current legislation?”

“Frantic. Terrified. Think of oil dropped on a red-hot skillet.”

“There was something Colin found, or a part of something. We were halted before we could download all the files. They shut down their outside access. But what we came across got us wondering.”

As Jackie outlined her fears, Bowers received the information as he would news of his own demise. He spent a long moment massaging his chest, then kicked the front seat. Hard. “Shoot somebody if that’s what it takes. But get us into the city now .”

Wednesday

So many of the things Colin told me last night I just couldn’t draw together,” Jackie was saying. “Hayek is one of the world’s most successful currency traders. He lives and breathes controlled risk. The only way to manage risk is through calculated logic. But there wasn’t a logical explanation I could attach to so much of what Colin uncovered.”

Wynn switched his gaze back and forth between Jackie and Bowers. The Fed board member’s demeanor had undergone a drastic change. Bowers now watched Jackie with something akin to awe. “Give me a for instance.”

She was seated in the Fed’s basement command center. The walls of the windowless chamber were lined floor to ceiling with monitors, television screens, computer towers, cables, keyboards, dials, servers, and the hum of collective tension. The room was packed. Two local techies remained, both now operating under Jackie’s instruction. Colin sat beside her. Arrayed on the long bench before them were four LCD monitors and two keyboards. Colin looked fairly comfortable for the first time since their arrival at National. He kept his attention fastened on the incoming data, leaving Jackie to deal with the suits.

Bowers was seated to Jackie’s other side. Wynn stood with the rest of the team, an amalgamation of senior staffers from both Treasury and the Fed. Kay Trilling and Carter stood across from him. The two Fed techies squatted between the bench and the walled array, watching and adjusting. With the sound muted to bare murmurs, the screens showed all the morning talk shows, plus MSNBC, BBC World News, and CNN. The Reuters Board and Bloomberg streamed their constant flows of data. Colin’s monitors scrolled with fast-breaking news. The wall clock read eleven minutes to nine.